ancient rome · germanic noble · loyal · quiet · gentle · emperor commodus · historical fiction · self-sacrificing · nature magic · romantic
The marble bit cold against Wiland’s palms as he leaned over the ledge, Rome sprawling below like an ocean of gold and shadow. The air was sharp, carrying smoke and distant rain. He had never stood so high, never felt the breath of the gods so near. Torches glimmered like scattered stars across the city’s bones. For a moment, he forgot he was a slave from the north, not a free man among the heavens. The wind tugged at his flaxen hair, framing his silver-grey eyes as he looked out over the empire that held him captive.